


Dance With Me?

by NachoDiablo



Series: Dance With Me? [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, First Meetings, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Remus Lupin, complete fluffy trash, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: Remus doesn't usually dance, but Sirius makes him reconsider.





	

Inspired by an awesome creation from @upthehillart on Tumblr depicting Sirius asking Remus to dance in a club (animated gif version  [ here ](http://upthehillart.tumblr.com/post/156169495827/dance-with-me-sirius-remus-non-gif-version) , plain art version  [ here ](https://upthehillask.tumblr.com/post/156187820336/hi-i-am-so-in-love-with-the-new-art-you-posted-of) ).

* * *

Remus blinks. He knows that this fit stranger is asking  _ him _ to dance, has to be asking him, because Remus is standing alone, away from the throngs of loud, sweaty bodies, avoiding eye contact, nursing his drink and scrolling through the news on his phone, counting down the hours until his friends are ready to stumble out of the club and down the street to one of the shady kiosks that stay open for food once the bars close.

 

Remus knows that this bloke is asking him to dance, but he doesn’t quite understand  _ why _ he is asking. Remus does not like to dance, and so when forced to come out to places like this, he has perfected the art of averting his eyes, shifting his body to face the wall, scowling slightly at his phone to make it seem as though he’s reading an important email rather than scrolling through husky puppy gifs. Occasionally, of course, someone will disregard all of his social cues and come up to talk to him, but that someone is usually drunk, and loud, and not nearly as alluring in their frenzied demeanor as they think they are. That someone is never like this person, all sharp angles, broad shoulders, piercing almond-shaped eyes, cloaked in a confidence that Remus does not see often, a confidence that’s completely devoid of the pompous self absorption so often found in his fellow grad students.

 

The bloke’s easy smile has started to falter, and Remus realizes with a start that he never responded to the dance request, choosing instead to stare vacantly like someone who’s never had a proper conversation with another human being before. Quickly, he stammers out a reply.

 

“Er, I’m sorry- I would, but- that is, I don’t- I don’t usually dance.”

 

The bloke’s smile widens again, making Remus’ stomach clench a bit, because bloody hell, this bloke is fit, in a different sort of way than Remus is used to. Remus does not date people like this, with untamed silky hair and stubble, ripped jeans, and tattoos that sprawl across his chest and arms in a rough, unplanned pattern. Remus dates people who wear dark rimmed glasses and skinny jeans, who have undercuts and ironic mustaches, whose tattoos are lines from Dario Fo plays, phrases that they “really identified with” as they backpacked across Italy during a gap year.

 

The stranger walks over now, one hand running through his hair, the other jammed in his front pocket, silver eyes raking over Remus subtly as he moves closer.

 

“You don’t usually dance, eh? Well, I don’t usually ask. Don’t usually buy drinks for a bloke, either, but … maybe tonight, I’ll do both. If you’d like to start with the latter?”

 

Remus bites his bottom lip as he grips his beer bottle tighter. “Er, sure. A drink would be good, I suppose.” He’s not sure why he’s saying yes, he never says yes at places like this, but then again, he never gets offers from people that he’d want to say yes to in the first place.

 

Once they’re seated at the bar with their drinks, Sirius- he’s introduced himself as Sirius, not the sort of name that Remus had been expecting from a bloke like that- turns his vodka tonic glass around in his hands as he gazes intently at Remus.

 

“So, Remus, what brings you out this evening? You don’t seem like the sort to frequent joints like this. Or did you just forget your glowsticks and crop top at home tonight?”

 

Remus snorts into his drink. “Believe me, had I any glowsticks on me, my friends would have confiscated them all by now for their own use. No, I’m just along for the ride, you could say. My friends get tired of my reclusive ways and drag me out every so often. I suppose it’s better than sitting around my flat, waiting in vain for news on the season three premiere of Rick and Morty.”

 

Sirius barks out a laugh. “Never go back to the carpet store, Remus.”

 

Remus smiles bemusedly. “You know the show, then? Most of my friends don’t get it. They think it’s too … preposterous, or crude.”

 

Sirius smirks, making one corner of his mouth rise up in a way that makes Remus want to kiss it. “A cartoon that celebrates nihilism and nails brilliant fart jokes is a cartoon worth watching, mate.”

 

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Do you think it celebrates nihilism? It certainly explores it as an attractive concept, as personified by Rick, but I always saw it as more of a warning against taking those ideals to the extreme.”

 

“Let me guess, you’re some sort of professor?” Sirius is laughing cheerfully, and Remus wants to crawl under the bar and die, because he’s being exactly the type of prat that he hates, the academic who turns every lighthearted conversation into a discussion that slowly works its way up its own arse.

 

“Er, not quite yet. Psychology grad student. Two years away from getting my PhD, or rather, two years away from working at a bookstore, wondering why I wasted my twenties taking out loans to read things I could have read for free had I just gotten that bookstore job five years earlier.”

 

Sirius stops laughing, though the grin remains on his face. “Who cares where you end up, Remus? It’s the journey that’s the important. Don’t you read your Facebook memes?”

 

Remus looks down into his glass, smiling, feeling like a bloody git, but in a comfortable way, somehow. “What about you, then? What journey are you on?”

 

Sirius shrugs, tossing back the dregs of his drink. “I’m an engineer. Tech stuff. My mates and I are working on some ideas for a start-up. Paying the bills right now by working at some shite ad network company, y’know, building algorithms to better enslave humanity through their internet searches, but … there’s more out there, something better, something that  _ we _ can make better.”

 

Remus is surprised to see Sirius blushing as he looks down at his empty glass, turning it in his hands, studying the melting ice cubes intently.

 

“It’s admirable, to want to make things better. In academia, we talk a lot about social justice, and changing the world, but at the end of the day, we’re just publishing papers that no one reads, recycling citations to fuel the egos of those highest in the ivory tower. Are we making any real, meaningful impact? I’m not so sure.”

 

Sirius peers over at Remus curiously. “Just because something isn’t affecting the entire world doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful, Remus. At the end of the day, isn’t it most important that we’ve lived our lives the way we wanted, without hurting anyone, whilst helping as much as we’re able?”

 

Remus rolls his eyes. “What sort of nihilist are you, with all this upbeat commentary?” He tries to look unaffected as Sirius meets his eyes, but that gaze, those silver eyes, that wicked grin, all make Remus’ face soften into a small, pleased smile that he tries to bite back, with little success.

 

“I like you, Remus.” Sirius hasn’t let their eyes lose contact as he lets his hand drift over to cover Remus’, letting his forefinger brush lightly against Remus’ pinky, and Remus would be creeped out, because he generally does not like being hit on at clubs like this, by people just looking for a one-off, people who mistake his reserved nature as the mark of an easy target, but Sirius is different. Sirius is looking at his eyes rather than his arse, flushing ever so slightly even as he scoots his stool a bit towards Remus.

 

Remus takes a deep breath, reaching up to adjust his jacket so that the lapel of his shirt is showing, fingering the pink, blue and white striped pin that sits there. He’s not expecting trouble, per se, not in a place like this, but he wants any rejection or uncertainty to come up now, before it’s too late, even though with the way Remus’ stomach is fluttering as Sirius stares at him, it’s already far too late for him to come out of this interaction unscathed.

 

Sirius raises an eyebrow as he looks down at the pin, never losing that infuriating grin as he threads his fingers through Remus’, squeezing their hands together, leaning over to whisper in Remus’ ear.

 

“I’m reading for that dance now, if you’ve changed your mind?”

 

Remus doesn’t hesitate as he drags Sirius out to the dance floor, draping his arms over Sirius’ shoulders as Sirius winds his own around Remus’ waist, pulling him tighter. The club is noisy, the loud music thumping so loudly that Remus can feel it in his chest, but they manage to have bits and pieces of a conversation, questions and sarcastic quips whispered into each others’ ears as they press together closely, resting their foreheads together, stifling their giggles against each others’ necks like a couple of schoolboys.

 

Remus isn’t sure why Sirius is so enticing to him, because Remus simply does not date people like Sirius. He dates people he meets when his cohort goes out to the wine bars on Thursday evenings, people who attend his university’s monthly Foucault book club and start pretentious arguments, people who frequent the kiosk at his farmer’s market selling homemade green tea soymilk.

 

Remus is not sure quite how it happens, but somehow they’ve worked their way over to the corner of the club, just next to the coat check room, hidden slightly behind a garish statue, and they’re snogging, Remus pressing Sirius up against the wall, running his hands through that infuriating mane, breathing heavily against Sirius’ neck as Sirius lets his hands wander down towards Remus’ arse, which Sirius squeezes gently as he pulls them closer together, letting out a gasp as Remus’ lips and tongue and teeth wander further down his throat to his collarbone.

 

“Bloody hell, Remus, I-” Sirius pushes Remus away slightly, frowning and biting his lip. “I don’t … Remus, I want you, but I also want to … I want to keep doing this, but I also want to ask you out on a bloody date, a grown-up one, with dinner reservations, or coffee in some snooty cafe, or some other such rot.”

 

Out of the corner of Remus’ eye he sees the coat check lady pop over to the loo, leaving her post unattended.

 

“Maybe tonight, you’ll do both.” The words are whispered quickly and quietly into Sirius’ ear right before Remus drags him behind the counter of the coat check.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The follow-up for this, “Coat Check”, is NSFW, so don’t follow the pups into that coat check if you’re not ready for a smut-fest.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hit me up @nachodiablo on Tumblr.


End file.
